


Tedium...it's not all it's Cracked Up to Be

by Aquila_Star



Series: Powers of Persuasion [12]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, smuttiness, thinks, travelling and more travelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-26
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-06-04 18:04:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6668803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aquila_Star/pseuds/Aquila_Star
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo learns a few things, and ponders a few more. There's nothing but time to think between Beorn's and Mirkwood, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tedium...it's not all it's Cracked Up to Be

Beorn was...intimidating to say the least. Bilbo knew he was gentle and extremely fond of all his animals, the evidence was everywhere. He also knew that Beorn was the last person who would hurt him and yet...he was so very big. It was alarming. Add to that the fact that the skinchanger was very fond of Bilbo, calling him little bunny and picking him up whenever he had the chance. Bilbo made a habit of staying very close to Thorin. 

Luckily for him, Thorin didn't mind in the slightest. His eyes filled with warmth every time Bilbo sought him out. It seemed as if they spent as many hours sharing a pipe or sitting quietly as they did engaging in other, less public activities. 

Fortunately, Beorn was willing to help them, although Bilbo couldn't help but wonder, if they hadn't had troubles with Orcs, would he have been quite so willing? In the end, they were well kitted out with plenty of food, the majority of it nuts and raisins and other things that are easy to pack and would provide them with needed protein. Beorn had warned them of the enchanted river, and had also warned them not to kill or eat any animal from the forest. Considering that it could take a long time to traverse the forest, it was a for the best. 

All the fuss and worry that Gandalf and Beorn were exhibiting wasn't doing a whole lot for Bilbo's confidence about this part of the journey. He really had no idea what to expect. None of the others did, either, and that was not helping. Gandalf seemed preoccupied, his mind working hard at puzzling something out, and Thorin was becoming increasingly short tempered the longer they stayed. 

Luckily for Thorin, none of that temper had overflowed onto Bilbo, in fact, he seemed to take great comfort from Bilbo, whenever he had the chance. He was still snappy and irritable, so Bilbo found himself doing what he could to distract Thorin. If that meant plenty of quality time in the storage room or behind the woodshed, then it was a sacrifice that Bilbo was willing to make. 

When they left the house of Beorn, Bilbo wasn't sure how he should feel, exactly, and there were more than two worries plaguing him. For one, being in a cozy, if somewhat oversized, house made Bilbo long achingly for the Shire and his familiar hearth at Bag End, more than he had even during the worst of the journey to that point. The second was Thorin. Despite being a big pile of crankiness, Thorin wasn't behaving terribly badly, in fact, considering what lie ahead of them and all the issues that Thorin was no doubt facing, he was handling it rather well, Bilbo thought. He wasn't snapping at anyone in particular, even if his words were a bit short and his muttered comments a little on the caustic side. Still, his attitude toward the Elves of Mirkwood and the necessity of following the Elven path through the woods could not add up to something good. Bilbo feared what may be ahead of them. 

The third and most pressing worry in Bilbo's mind was the forest itself. Once named Greenwood, it had been significantly down graded to Mirkwood. Admittedly, Bilbo hadn't been there, so he was in no position to judge either way, but the name did sound ominous. He hadn't know what to expect through the whole journey, but now he knew he knew to expect bad things. 

Before too long, they were off. Despite not being a fan of ponies in general, Bilbo was very grateful for the loan. They would cut their travel time from Beorn's to Mirkwood down from about two weeks to less than one. Not that he was eager to get there, but there was still the threat of Orcs looming. It was doubtful Azog had decided to give them up, especially considering the way they had escaped from right under his sword. 

At least this time, Bilbo didn't have to ride a pony by himself. There were not quite enough ponies to go around, and several of the Company had to double up. Ori and Nori were riding together, as they were both on the smaller side, comparatively, and Bofur had doubled up with Kili. Bilbo thought he had the best place, however. Riding across the Wilderland was much more enjoyable when he didn't have to guide the pony, and even more pleasant as he was able to lean against a strong chest, feeling secure with Thorin's arms around him. It wasn't an enjoyable journey in any sense of the word that Bilbo had known before, but compared to other parts of their trip, it was downright wonderful. Being able to sneak a few naps on the road didn't hurt. 

Neither did the fact that their riding arrangements left plenty of time for conversing with Thorin. True, he was irritable and on edge, but Bilbo had so far been able to distract him quite readily, even without any clothes coming off. Thorin, at Bilbo's encouragement, told him stories of his early life in Erebor, tales of the boys growing up, even some stories about his brother, Frerin. Bilbo's heart ached when he talked of Frerin. Losing his father and grandfather had hurt him deeply, the loss of Erebor was an open wound that Thorin seemed almost protective of, but the loss of his little brother was like an amputation. He would never be rid of the pain of it. 

In his turn, Bilbo told Thorin about his life in the Shire, stories about more than just how much he missed it, though that fact did colour his tales. He spoke about the people he knew, family and friends. His Took and Brandybuck cousins were always a good place to start when telling a tale, and Bilbo found that some of the other ponies gathered around in those moments. Fili and Kili in particular loved to hear about the mischief that young Hobbits were prone to, however much Thorin insisted that they didn’t need any more ideas.

Bilbo also talked about his parents. About the Fell Winter and how his father had never really been the same after that. About how his mother had faded after Bilbo's father grew ill and died when Bilbo was only just thirty-six, his mother following when he was forty-two. Thorin was stunned to learn how relatively young Bilbo had been and indeed, how young he was in comparison with the Dwarves. When he told Bilbo that Fili and Kili had several decades on him, and they were still considered barely of age, Bilbo was floored. Thorin was just as floored to learn Bilbo's age, despite knowing that Bilbo was comfortable middle aged, by Hobbit standards. 

“But, fifty!” Thorin repeated, and Bilbo found himself rolling his eyes, again. “I admit, I'm having a hard time wrapping my head around it.”

“Well, I'll be fifty-one soon,” Bilbo pointed out. “A few more weeks, I think...what day is it, anyway?”

“I'm not sure exactly, that's something you'd have to ask Gandalf.”

“Ahh, well, my fifty-first birthday is the 22nd of September, and by Hobbit reckoning, I'm quite a well grown gentlehobbit.”

“Fifty-one,” Thorin said, still amazed. “I knew Hobbits aged differently, faster than Dwarves, but it's still difficult to accept.”

“What's more difficult is that you're almost two hundred! Even if I was already aware of that, it's still surprising.”

“One hundred and ninety-five isn't that old, for a Dwarf,” Thorin said, and now it was Bilbo's turn to shake his head.

“You're four times my age, Thorin. There have been generations of Hobbits that have come and gone while you've lived.”

“And yet, I am not old by the reckoning of my people. I may yet have more than a century left, if I'm lucky. Most who die of old age do so between two-fifty and three hundred, but many also live well into their third century.”

“Well, you don't look old, anyway,” Bilbo admitted, surprised that after all this time and everything he'd gone through with Thorin, that he could still blush over admitting he was attractive. 

“Shall I take that as a compliment, Master Baggins?” Thorin asked, pulling Bilbo closer with one hand and running his nose up the curve of Bilbo’s ear. 

“Take it however you like,” Bilbo said, but he couldn't keep the tremor from his voice, nor could he keep himself from squirming back against Thorin, just a little. 

“Dwarves tend not to show their age until they are truly reaching the end of their lives,” Thorin explained, and Bilbo was happy that he didn't continue with his teasing. There were too many people around, and they were much too far away from that evening's camp for Bilbo to get worked up. 

“Is Balin that old, then? Or Oin?”

“Not that old, really. And while they both have white hair, they have not lost their energy or vitality, and bear no signs of doing so. Their minds are still quire sharp as well. That is a much more important factor.”

“Oh, I suppose that makes sense,” Bilbo said, considering. 

“Also, the changing of hair colour is something that varies from Dwarf to Dwarf. For instance, Dwalin is actually a few years older than Oin, and his hair hasn't begun to turn at all.”

Bilbo started, turning to look at Thorin. “Dwalin is older than Oin?”

“Indeed. Only two or three years, I believe. It's hard to keep it all in order.”

“Well, after almost two centuries I'd imagine you'd forget some things.” Bilbo thought about all he'd learned for a few minutes, and than asked, “so, who is oldest in the company then? Balin?”

Thorin's chest vibrated with a throaty chuckle. “No indeed. Can you not guess?”

Bilbo's brow creased in contemplation. “Well, you've said that Oin is younger than Dwalin, and I know that Dwalin is younger than Balin...so who does that leave? Bifur? His hair is also rather white, although not completely. Or Dori, for that matter.”

“You're still thinking in Hobbit terms, Bilbo,” Thorin said, his amusement very evident. 

“Oh, yes, of course. Well then...” he trailed off, still for a few moments before turning almost completely in the saddle to look at Thorin, stunned. 

“It cannot be you!” he exclaimed, quite aware of the fact that he must have a face like a fish.

Thorin laughed a little louder this time. “Indeed, I am the eldest of our little group. Well, not counting Gandalf, of course. I believe he is older still than the Elves.”

“But you look so...so...” Bilbo stuttered, unsure of how he wanted to continue. The truth is, Thorin appeared stronger and more alive than any of the Hobbits Bilbo knew, of any age. 

“So what?” Thorin prompted, an eyebrow raised, clearly interested in how Bilbo would complete his statement. “You knew my age, does knowing there are none in the Company older than I such a shock?”

“Well, you look quite young,” Bilbo admitted. “You are very attractive, and, uh...vital.” Another word beginning with v came to Bilbo's mind, but he could not bring himself to say it out loud. 

“And yet, I am indeed the eldest Dwarf here,” Thorin confirmed. “As you know, I am one hundred and ninety-five years. Balin comes next, at one hundred and seventy-eight. He's followed by his brother and then Oin and Gloin, respectively. The rest span down from there.”

“How fascinating,” Bilbo said, pondering it all. “Then, who is the youngest? I doubt there are any who have lived fewer years than I, however mature I am counted amongst Hobbits.”

“Many would think that Ori is the youngest among us, but the truth is, it's Kili.”

“Oh,” Bilbo replied. “I suppose that's easier to understand.”

“Indeed,” Thorin agreed. “Kili is seventy-seven, while Fili only has five years on him, at eighty-two.”

“So, they'd be tweens or...just of age. Well, they certainly act like it.” Bilbo couldn't help but laugh a little. Some things were universal, despite the difference between the races. 

“I almost didn't bring them, but in the end, they need to do this with me. If I die, Mahal forbid, Fili will be King. He must have a part in the reclaiming of the mountain.” Thorin's voice was tight and strained. “They had not been tested in battle, but they are both talented and intelligent. They needed to come, and they have acquitted themselves admirably.”

“Which is a roundabout way of saying you're proud of them.” Bilbo couldn't help but smile to himself. Thorin was immensely proud of his nephews, and loved them deeply. It was apparent in everything he did, the way he treated them, the way he worried over them. 

“Perhaps,” Thorin admitted. “But don't ever let them know I said that. I want them to work for it.”

“Oh, don't worry, I won't,” Bilbo said with a chuckle. “Their heads would be so that large even the ponies wouldn't be strong enough to carry them.”

Thorin laughed, giving Bilbo another squeeze and kissing his ear. Bilbo couldn't help the shudder that went through him. He and Thorin hadn't had a single chance to find a more that a quick moment together since they'd left Beorn's. They were on high alert for the following Orcs, which meant no sneaking away from camp, especially unarmed and...well, if they did, their attention would not have been on what else was around them. A few furtive fumbles between their shared blanket had been the extent of it. 

Being this close to Thorin and yet unable to do anything during the entirety of their four days on the road, Bilbo was starting to get a little fidgety. He was certain that Thorin wasn't much better off, there was a definite pressing against Bilbo's rear when they were this close. Of course, Bilbo ended up with an uncomfortable erection as well, which is not something he'd been accustomed to during the journey. 

“I miss you,” Thorin whispered in his ear the day after their conversation about comparative ages...the day they were hoping to reach the Elven Gate to Mirkwood. The forest was a dark line on the horizon, but had they come far enough north to find the path, that was the question. 

“I'm right here,” Bilbo replied, confused. Then Thorin slid his hand down Bilbo's chest and palmed Bilbo's suddenly awake cock, and he realised just what Thorin meant. He squeezed, and Bilbo let out a rush of air, not realising that he'd been holding his breath. “Thorin, what are you doing?”

“Touching you,” Thorin said simply. His hot breath on the back of Bilbo's neck left him shivering, and suddenly very hard. 

“You shouldn’t,” Bilbo hissed, trying not to push himself into Thorin's hand, but failing. 

“Yes, I should,” Thorin replied, leaning close enough so that Bilbo could feel his lips move when he spoke. “Everyone is ahead of us, I'll keep an eye on them.”

“That's beside the point,” Bilbo insisted. “Now is hardly the time.”

“There is no time lately, and likely will not be once we're in the forest, either. Now is the only time.”

“But,” Bilbo began, but Thorin interrupted him. 

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice lowered in a not quite whisper, his lips sucking gently at Bilbo's neck. Bilbo breathed deeply, trying to come up with a reason why it was a bad idea.

“Yes,” he said, before he'd consciously decided to. Thorin growled quietly, and pulled his hand back, wrapping his coat around the both of them, encouraging Bilbo to hold it closed in front of them. 

“How is this even going to work?” Bilbo asked, breathless, but then Thorin's hand was slipping into his trousers, and he gave up trying to figure it out. 

It was shockingly quick. The roughness of Thorin's hand was tantalizing, he didn't even wrap Bilbo in his fist, simply pressed his erection against his belly, inside his clothing. He bit lightly at Bilbo's ear as his hand moved, pressing and rubbing intently. Their precarious position and chance of discovery combined with the long missed sensations had Bilbo coming in Thorin's hand within moments.

“I've never felt like such a tween in all my life,” Bilbo said, once his breathing had levelled out. “Even when I was a tween.”

“I can imagine,” Thorin said, laving Bilbo's neck one last time, his hand still pressing against Bilbo's now softening cock. 

“What do we do now?” Bilbo asked, having given no thought to the mess when he'd agreed to this little experiment. 

“In the right inner pocket of the coat,” Thorin said. “Handkerchief. Slide it down into my hand.”

Bilbo complied, muttering half under his breath. “Where on earth did you get a handkerchief?”

“At Beorn's” Thorin answered simply, handing Bilbo the reigns with his free hand, and using it to clean the other quickly. The soiled handkerchief went back into his inner pocket and then he took the reigns again.

“What about you?” Bilbo asked, but Thorin shushed him as Dwalin drifted back toward their pony.

“I'll be fine,” Thorin said. “It would be far too difficult to clean up after, and I am a Dwarf, after all.”

“Yes, yes,” Bilbo said. “You'll endure.”

“I will. Having you close and satisfied is enough. For now.”

“All right, have it your way. But perhaps we could sleep a little further from the rest tonight?”

“I'll see what I can do,” Thorin agreed, and that was the end of it. 

 

* * *

 

It was a few short hours later when the finally found the Elven Gate. 

“Here it is, then,” Balin said, giving the gate a wary look.

“Indeed,” said Gandalf. “And this is the path you must take, for to go around would delay you by several months, at the very least.”

“How long will it take to get through?” Bilbo asked. As of yet, there had not been a firm answer to his question.

“Several weeks, perhaps three, if you're lucky,” Gandalf replied. 

“You're?” Thorin asked, noting the words that Gandalf had chosen. “You are not coming with us?”

“I cannot,” Gandalf replied. “I will stay with you tonight, but I must needs depart before the sun tomorrow.”

“When the path is at its darkest, you'll leave us?” Thorin said in a harsh voice. “Why?”

“I did not promise you I would be along for the entire quest, Thorin Oakenshield. I have remained as long as I was able, but now I have other tasks that need tending. I am not responsible for you alone.”

Bilbo gripped Thorin's wrist, staying his next words, for the sake of peace, and his eardrums, if Thorin were to begin yelling at Gandalf while Bilbo sat in front of him. 

“When will you be back?” he asked. 

“I do not know how long I will be, but I hope to catch you up before you reach Laketown. If that fails, I will meet you on the overlook outside the ruins of Dale.” 

“We hope,” Thorin growled, making Bilbo grip his wrist tighter. 

“On no account enter the mountain without me,” Gandalf added, and Bilbo felt a sense of foreboding at his words. 

“Well, that is all for tomorrow, at any rate,” Balin pointed out. “Let's find a place to camp...if we're lucky, we'll be able to have a fire this evening.”

“If we're lucky,” Thorin agreed. 

They were. Not very far away from the forest they found a rocky depression, with just enough cover to allow them a fire and giving them a reasonable amount of defence. 

Bilbo was grateful for the fire, and for the rabbits and pheasants that Kili had been able to bring down with a new bow supplied by Beorn. It meant hot food, and not only that, but meat. There had been no meat at all since they'd crossed into the Misty Mountains. Everyone gathered around the pot eagerly, and it wasn't long before the meal was gone, leaving Bilbo just on the un side of satisfied. 

Perhaps in apology for his intention to leave them, Gandalf offered to take the watch that evening and, surprisingly, Thorin accepted without argument. Bilbo set up the bedrolls that he had Thorin had been sharing and hunkered down, still shivering despite the closeness of the fire. He had to admit, he'd not chosen wisely when he'd packed a hasty bag and dashed out of the door of Bag End. His coat was worn and tattered where it had once been fine, and although it was well suited to an autumn evening in the Shire, it was completely useless during a cold night spent outside in the Wilderland. 

Fortunately, Thorin left Gandalf moments later and joined him, wrapping Bilbo in his arms and pulling the blanket over them both. Bilbo sent a thought of gratitude toward Beorn for supplying the blankets, they meant the difference between sharing one warm space with Thorin and being in the middle of a pile of Durin's line. Fili and Kili were sharing their own blanket, to Bilbo's relief. 

Thorin didn't just pull the blanket up to their shoulders, but covered their entire heads, as the blanket was quite a bit longer than either of them needed. It had become a habit, to snuggle close under the thin fabric and indulge in a few scarce moments of near privacy. That is when Thorin let his hands wander perhaps a bit too far, considering the Dwarves not a few feet away, but Bilbo's favourite part was all the kissing. 

He'd always enjoyed kissing, and Thorin was very good at it. At times brutal and demanding, at times tender and soft, he milked as much sensation from the simple slide of lips and tongues, pushing Bilbo from aching need to utter contentment and back again. They never took it further, not least because Bilbo wasn't willing to throw off his Hobbitish propriety altogether, but on that night, Bilbo wanted Thorin to experience what he had that afternoon. 

His hand snuck down, and found Thorin's erection before he could stop it. Usually Thorin tried to keep their hands above their waists, as it helped them put a stop to their activities before things went too far. On this night, Bilbo was triumphant, and Thorin didn't resist when he tugged Thorin's trouser just open enough that he could press his hand against Thorin's bare flesh, for the first time in days. 

Bilbo had to kiss him harder when Thorin's mouth went slack and he moaned, far too loud for their current position. But he didn't stop his hand, squeezing and pulling Thorin's cock until the Dwarf was thrusting into his grip, his fingers digging into the flesh of Bilbo's back. 

“Bilbo!” he gasped, tearing his lips away and panting roughly as Bilbo twisted his hand on each stroke, pulling Thorin higher and closer to his peak with every pass over the ultra sensitive head. 

“It's your turn, Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, encouraging. “I want you to come for me, but be quiet about it, understand?”

“Yes, ye...ungh,” Thorin agreed, descending into needy vocalizations, words having fled. Bilbo kissed him again, pulling Thorin's tongue into his mouth and thrusting back as he squeezed and twisted again, and then Thorin's mouth was slack once more, his moan pitched high and desperate. Bilbo felt the splash of hot come on his hand, smearing it over Thorin's pulsing cock with each stroke. 

Thorin's head rolled forward, pressing their heads together and panting harshly, a sharp whine escaping from his throat with each pass of Bilbo's hand on his spent and sensitive cock. 

“Now, how are we going to clean this mess up?” Bilbo asked with a smirk, but Thorin could only shake his head weakly. “Don't worry, I have a plan,” Bilbo supplied. Then he ducked his head under the blanket, inching down until he could reach Thorin's groin with his mouth, licking Thorin's come off his hand before cleaning the rest from Thorin's cock and navel. 

That work Thorin up a bit, and he grasped a handful of Bilbo's hair, muffling his gasps into his own arm while Bilbo finished the job, giving one last swipe of his tongue over the soft head, just for good measure.

“Bilbo,” Thorin rasped, his voice deep and rough, sending shivers of pleasure throughout Bilbo, as if Thorin's voice was attached to all his nerve endings. “You are filthy, did you know that?”

“I'll have you know I'm considered the height of propriety and respectability back home,” Bilbo insisted. “It must be you, bringing out the depravity in me.”

“It must be,” Thorin agreed, kissing Bilbo again, as soon as he'd resettled himself. “I wouldn't trade it for anything.” 

Bilbo laughed nervously, again unsettled by Thorin's words, by his intensity. He was beginning to suspect that Thorin's feelings ran much deeper than his own. He settled his head into the crook of Thorin's neck, his erection long since softened. This could become a problem. Keeping away from Thorin would not be possible, or desirable, even if he could accomplish it. The Dwarf was far too persistent for that, and Bilbo did not have the will or desire to put him off. 

Still, he was going to have to find a way to address this little issue. If it was indeed an issue. The thought of a powerful and beautiful Dwarven King falling in love with Bilbo Baggins of The Shire was unlikely at best. Perhaps he'd just been reading too much into it. Bilbo comforted himself with the thought that he must be mistaken, that the close contact had skewed his perspective. He snuggled closer, revelling in the great warmth that Thorin provided. There was no rule that said he couldn't take advantage of the situation, was there? 

He'd figure the rest out later. They had time.

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm playing with the timeline a bit...in the book they travelled for months, indeed, they were in Mirkwood, and Rivendell, for that matter, for a month each. Of course, the movies have condensed that greatly, so I'm kind of playing it in the middle. 
> 
> Also, I had thought at the beginning of this series that I would just roll with the movieverse ages of the Dwarves, but my Tolkien loving heart just couldn't do it. So, I made it work for this fic, with accurate ages of the Company from Tolkien's writing. 
> 
> Heading out of town tomorrow, and I have company coming for the rest of the week, and my daughter is in a big Midsummer Night's Dream performance and we have a big soccer tournament, and then there's the usual weekly stuff and homeschooling. Yeah. Writing is kind of a thing you need time for. At least only one of the kids can read over my shoulder, lol. I only have to avoid the one. ;) Will update asap. :D


End file.
